Assoc for Scottish Literature's status

Assoc for Scottish Literature

Wha’s Doctor Wha? Wha better kens nor he
that jouks the yetts and rides the birlin wheels
o time and space, shape-shiftin as he reels
through endless versions o reality? …

—James Robertson, “Doctor Wha”
First published in Where Rockets Burn Through (ed. Russell Jones, 2012)

Today, 23 November, is #DoctorWhoDay

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#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #Scots #Scotslanguage #ScienceFiction #SFpoetry #DoctorWhoDay #DoctorWho

Doctor Wha
by James Robertson

Wha’s Doctor Wha? Wha better kens nor he
that jouks the yetts and rides the birlin wheels
o time and space, shape-shiftin as he reels
through endless versions o reality?
Bit dis he ken himsel? Weel, mibbe sae,
yet wha’s tae ken gin aw that’s kent by Wha
maks mair or less or better sense ava
nor whit we ithers ken, or think we dae?
The universe is fou o parallels:
wha’s like us? Hunners? Thoosans? We oorsels
micht be mere glisks o life-forms yet tae be.
Whit’s real? Whaur’s here? When’s noo? Wha’s quick or deid?
Wha’s jist a thochtie in anither’s heid?
Wha’s Doctor Wha? Wha better kens nor he?

Assoc for Scottish Literature replied to Assoc for Scottish Literature's status

I’m seeking a young, clever woman, cute enough
to prompt a smile, armed with enough pity for
the dregs of the universe…

—Tracey S. Rosenberg, “The Time Lord’s Job Advertisement”
published in THE FLIGHT OF THE TURTLE: New Writing Scotland 29 (2011)

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#Scottish #literature #poem #poetry #ScienceFiction #SFpoetry #DoctorWhoDay #DoctorWho

Tracey S. Rosenberg
The Time Lord’s Job Advertisement

I’m seeking a young, clever woman, cute enough
to prompt a smile, armed with enough pity for
the dregs of the universe. Your tears, frequent
but not excessive, would be a charming grace note
to my stoic ability to leap towards the next crisis
(or to kill, when I decide that’s an act of mercy).

When chaos erupts, be prepared to run
across sand or grass or slivered emeralds,
clutching treasures. (Nebula eggs? Sacred books
bound in the queen’s flesh? After the danger,
I can explain their importance,
and pat your shoulder as you cry again.)
If you collect trinkets, you can lay them out in stark rows
and ponder, with a light smile, each glittering memory.
Don’t fall in love. Long hours a given
and by the Gods, you must care.

Stay curious – you will learn such strangeness here –
and brighten at each fresh spark of wonder
I provide you. Ask many questions, and appreciate
my answers. Glean useful hints from the natives,
even if they have scales or gobble their food
upside down, and inform me at opportune times
so I may instantly produce the solution.
Under no circumstance will you prove me wrong.

Strip down your pride. Don’t second-guess me
and stop pretending to know what you’re doing.
You’ll ask for my help whether you like it or not.
Space is bordered by an iron-spiked fence; time
collapses into how, this moment, you can assist me.

Don’t even think about losing that key.

At some hour, I’ll glance across this console,
watching you coax your treasures into place,
and I’ll know from the tilt of your head
that you’re dreaming of spiral torrents –
stars spiked into the arch of a tent
beneath which we two twine
white-hot at infinity’s core.

Your final tears will come after
I push you out the too-small door,
grinning my pitiless smile.
Stand bewildered on a pavement,
clutching a string bag
of tawdry souvenirs. Whirl to seek
what vanishes behind you.

Save your pity.
Stop crying.

Bodhipaksa replied to Assoc for Scottish Literature's status

@scotlit Brutal!